Terminal by Hawra’a Khalfan

I look up at the fluorescent lights; at the perfectly lined up squares covering the ceiling.  My eyes flirt with the smoke detector, as my mind wanders to a world where I have the health to light up a cigarette, and set it off.  Ironic, isn’t it? That when you can, you justify it.  But when it might possibly be the reason you’re in this mess to begin with; you don’t loathe it- but you loathe yourself for letting it slaughter you.

A smirk creeps onto my face abruptly.  Oh, the amount of people I may never have known if it wasn’t for it.  And as soon as my smirk settled; it fluttered off by her voice. 

She screams, as if her soul is in yearn for an escape.

She bawls, as if there was nothing left to live for, but pain.

She howls, as a reminder to all the provinces, that she, unfortunately still exists.

She cries from the agony of breath.

She is now laying still, as tears camouflage her face

And her mind jolts itself into the darkest corner within, she

thinks of him,

thinks of them,

alongside everything there is to think about, before she can think no more.

She feels aches in every lump of her that still exists

But the most painful ache there is,

Is that despite all of this; all she yearns for

Is to have him stand beside her mechanical bed

And hover over her, silently.

One thought on “Terminal by Hawra’a Khalfan

Leave a Reply